Found
by writergal85
Summary: How several CTM characters (none of which belong to me) might have found out about a certain romance between a former nun and a doctor. Originally posted on my blog, moved here.
1. Sister Julienne, Part 1

The bus that pulled up to St. Anne's sanatorium was nearly empty and for this, Sister Julienne was glad. The trip back to Poplar was short and she needed some precious time alone to consider everything Sister Bernadette had told her and to gather her own thoughts.

She'd made time to visit the sister more frequently over the past several weeks after Sister Bernadette had called and asked for a visit.

The first time, she'd worried that the younger nun's health had taken a turn for the worse, and she wanted to confess because she sensed her time was near. Sister Julienne had entered St. Anne's then prepared to say goodbye.

But Nurse Peters had given her a boisterous welcome, quite unlike any medical professional preparing to impart bad news.

"She's been waiting for you out in the garden. I'll just take you to her," she said grinning widely as she led her down the hall.

"And how is our dear sister?" Sister Julienne asked, some of her fears assuaged, now replaced by bewilderment.

"Health is much the same. Temperatures unrewardingly normal," she said, chuckling. "But she'll be glad to see you. Mind you, when she said she wanted to arrange for a visitor, I thought it'd be that doctor."

"Doctor?" But surely they had excellent doctors here? Had Sister Bernadette wanted a second opinion on her condition?

"Hmm, Trammell or Turner or something –"

"Dr. Turner is our local GP, but I'm afraid he's rather busy at the moment," she said, her confusion growing.

"Not too busy to send a letter every week," the nurse said, with a sly smile. "Here we are. Wait here a moment and I'll just let her know you've arrived."

Since Sister Bernadette had entered the sanatorium, she and the other sisters and nurses had written her letters and made a point to include her in their daily prayers, and they'd all visited at least once.

But Dr. Turner had written her every week? She knew the sister held a great deal of professional respect for the doctor – they all did – and he was a friend in many ways as well. A particular effort had been made in the community to show him kindness after his wife died, and Sister Bernadette had grown rather fond of his son, Timothy.

Perhaps the letters had been from the boy, put in the post by his father.

But then she remembered the other week at clinic, how young Timothy had begged Nurse Franklin to carry a message in a matchbox to Sister Bernadette. "Do you know if she's getting well?" he'd asked. "My dad won't tell me anything and I haven't heard from her in ages."

Nurse Peters reappeared and waved her through the door. "Just this way, sister."


	2. Sister Julienne, Part 2

The bus lurched to a sudden stop, shaking Sister Julienne out of her reverie. A young woman with a little girl, no more than two years old, balanced on her hip got on and took a seat across the aisle from her.

When the little girl spotted her, she grinned, revealing two pearly white baby teeth. "Hi!" she said, waving.

Sister Julienne smiled in return. "Hello. Lovely child," she said to her mother.

The woman smoothed the girl's tangled blond curls as she settled her on her lap. "Thank you, sister."

Her gaze lingered on the pair a second longer, and then she turned to the window.

"I haven't lost my faith," Sister Bernadette had said. "I want other things – things I can't have in the religious life."

Sister Julienne had listened quietly as the young nun told her of all her trials and doubts over the past year: how she had felt envious of the young nurses, able to dream about romance and explore the world; how she struggled with vanity after buying new, more fashionable glasses; how it had become harder and harder to hand newborn babies over to their mothers, knowing she would never have a child of her own; and how her mind, once so clear and focused during prayer, now wandered with curiosity about another life. She'd felt guilty.

Sister Julienne felt the burden of her own guilt weigh heavy - she should have noticed the younger nun's struggles and offered her counsel sooner. She tried to comfort her friend now.

"We've all felt that – times of confusion. There were for me," she said, her mind drifting briefly to a few months in the spring of 1939 when all had seemed lost.

Sister Bernadette sighed. "This was my wilderness. My test of what I felt, of what I believed." She paused and Sister Julienne could see her working out exactly what she wanted to say.

"And I see now, I wasn't close to death – I was close to life. And it took the illness to show me," she said in a rush. Her breathing sounded shaky and Sister Julienne worried briefly if she was feeling ill. Should they stop walking?

But young nun continued, unable since she'd finally found the strength to confess, to be silent now.

"I think God wants another path for me, beyond Nonnatus."

Sister Julienne stopped, briefly, feeling suddenly as if the world had stopped too. Sister Bernadette was young and suffering from a terrible disease – she had expected her to have her moments of doubt. She had not expected this. Nonnatus House without Sister Bernadette? Life without her friend? What if, by leaving the shelter of the convent, she was merely abandoning one wilderness for another? A path through a wild world that she would have to walk utterly alone?

Sister Julienne resumed walking, trying – but failing, she knew – to keep the hurt and worry off her face, and phrased her next words carefully.

"Sister, what you're saying, what you're asking, is the first step on a journey which will not be an easy one. You must be sure it is one you wish to pursue." If anything happened to her – if her decision was a wrong one – how would she help her then?

The young nun gave a weary sigh. "I need your strength, sister. I don't have enough of my own because I don't know if God's given me a window and I'm just staring out of it because I'm afraid to open it."

Sister Julienne frowned. She was rambling in vague metaphors again, like she had at the start of their conversation. Perhaps it was time they went in.

"I cannot tell you whether or not to open it. An open window can let in sun and warmth and light," she said, and the young nun gave her a tiny smile. "But it also lets in the rain. You must be prepared for both." She grasped her friend's hand in reassurance. "However, if you truly need my strength, you have it."


	3. Sister Julienne, Part 3

Sister Julienne visited St. Anne's several times over the following month. Sister Bernadette never opened up to her the way she had during that first visit, but she noticed the younger nun seemed brighter and more at ease as the weeks went by. Perhaps a sympathetic ear had been all she'd needed to assure her of her chosen path in life.

One bright day at the beginning of autumn, Sister Julienne arrived for her now-usual visit. Nurse Peters led her to a corner of the sitting room where she saw Sister Bernadette's books piled on a table – but no Sister Bernadette. "She's just gone to her room for a moment to retrieve a letter," the nurse said. "Do sit."

Sister Julienne took a seat, looking out the window at the garden, then began examining the titles of the books on the table. At the beginning of Sister Bernadette's treatment, she'd drawn up a list of books she wanted to borrow when the sisters or the nurses visited. But Sister Monica Joan had proclaimed herself librarian, and rather than give Sister Bernadette the books she asked for, she always sent along ones she deemed "necessary to our Sister's well-being." Her choices ran the gamut from religious texts - St. Augustine's _Confessions_ \- to children's stories - one week she'd sent along _Little Women._

The books Sister Julienne had been instructed to drop off last month had been a strange mixture - _Jane Eyre, The Velveteen Rabbit_ and a book of Shakespearean sonnets. She saw the sister must be still be reading the Bronte novel - an envelope marked her spot about halfway through. She set this week's contribution, _Mansfield Park_ , on top of the pile and her hand brushed a stack of letters, sending them to the floor.

She bent to gather them. They'd been folded and refolded and the edges were creased, as if Sister Bernadette had read them many times. She was glad she'd found such a source of comfort and smiled as she recognized one that had been sent by herself and the other sisters. There was also one from Dr. Turner - quite a few of those actually.

She remembered Nurse Peters saying he wrote Sister Bernadette every week, but she had thought that an exaggeration. Why would he write her so often? It was kind, but it odd. It made her uneasy, though she couldn't pinpoint why.

She stacked the letters neatly on the table. She hoped the poor man wasn't writing out of guilt at not having spotted Sister Bernadette's symptoms sooner. He had a tendency to blame himself for things beyond his control. She would be forever grateful for the day he and Sister Bernadette brought the X-ray van to Poplar. It had been a good day, an active one that ended with tears, but the alternative was too unbearable to think about.

The nurse led Sister Bernadette into the room and Sister Julienne stood to embrace her. "Hello, sister."

The younger nun smiled shyly. "Hello. Thank you for visiting again."

They both settled on the couch and Sister Julienne plopped a cake tin in the lap of her friend. "I bring new books and a treat."

Sister Bernadette opened the tin. "Almond sponge!"

"Mrs. B made you a cherry slab as well, but Sister Monica Joan chose to spare it the journey."

She giggled as she closed the tin. Her face held a new kind of excitement, like she had a secret she was bursting to tell. "Sister, I had a new set of X-rays taken yesterday and I've responded so well to the triple treatment, I no longer have active disease. I'm going to be discharged next week, to convalesce at home."

Sister Julienne gasped, feeling the weight of several months of worry lift from her shoulders in an instant. She wanted to weep from joy.

"Oh, that is the most wonderful news!" she cried. God had answered their prayers. Their beloved sister was well and coming home.

Sister Bernadette nodded. "The difficulty is, that I'm not entirely certain where my home is. Or ought to be."

"Well until you are certain, your home is with us, amongst your Sisters," she said, eager to assuage any fears her friend might have about returning to Nonnatus after her tearful confession. Regardless of any lingering doubts, she should be in a place where she was loved, amongst those who loved her, while she continued convalescing.

"Could I trouble you for some clothes?"

"Clothes? Have you none here?"

"Only the habit." She sighed. "And I don't feel able to wear that now."

Sister Julienne paused, mystified. Sister Bernadette had seemed so much lighter in the past weeks, she'd thought her counsel had perhaps guided her back toward the religious life. But now it seemed her dear Sister was more lost than ever. She wouldn't even meet her eyes now. What had she seen through that open window they'd spoken of?

"Sister, we all experience regretful thoughts and feelings – anger, jealousy, impatience. We are human. But we pray and we repent and we seek solace through God's love."

The young nun started slightly – had she said something wrong? – and clasped her hands together.

"What is it?"

Sister Bernadette was silent so long Sister Julienne wondered if she should push her anymore. But then she spoke.

"I don't regret –" she paused, running the thumb of her right hand across the palm of her left. "That is, I don't believe that what I feel is something I want to regret. I feel - I think what I feel is love, Sister. I feel love - a kind of love that would mean breaking my vows."

Love? All this time she's been troubled because she felt love? Sister Julienne moved away slightly, feeling as though she had trespassed on a private moment between Sister Bernadette and – who? And how? And when?

In her shock, her eye caught the corner of an envelope, sticking out of the pocket of Sister Bernadette's dressing gown. The untidy scrawl on the top edge would be barely legible to anyone who wasn't familiar with reading it. But Sister Julienne had read enough hastily composed medical reports to recognize the words "Turner" and "Kenilworth Row."

Why would she -?

Oh my.

The letters. Those well-worn, so obviously cherished letters. There were so many of them.

Was that how it started? Or was it before?

There had been something...different the day of the TB screening. She'd thought it was a new discovery of purpose, how Sister Bernadette seemed to regain the brightness in her smile.

And if she was being honest with herself, she'd seen that happiness reflected in Dr. Turner's face that day too...up until that evening, when they'd learned of Sister Bernadette's diagnosis. He'd seemed more worn-out than usual over the weeks since then, so tired and disheveled she'd wondered if they shouldn't call in a locum for a few weeks and give him some time off.

Perhaps it had been then.

But it wasn't her place to ask. If or when Sister Bernadette wished to tell her the whole story, she would. She just hoped she and Dr. Turner were certain of what they felt, for this path would not be an easy one.

She placed a hand over Sister Bernadette's trembling fingers. "Perhaps you should spend your convalescence at the Mother House in Chichester," she said gently. "There are procedures to go through, if you decide to leave the order. And it might be easier than returning to Poplar right away. This would give you time to truly consider your feelings and your options for the future."

Sister Bernadette nodded. "Thank you, Sister."


	4. Sister Julienne, Part 4

It was the first true day of autumn and Sister Julienne shivered slightly at the chill as she entered her office. When she'd awoken for morning prayers, there had been frost on all the window panes and it wouldn't be long before the nuns and nurses would have to watch out for icy steps and streets as they attended births. She made a note to get Fred to check on the boiler tomorrow.

Today he was rather busy, as he was looking after his grandson, Anthony, and his daughter, Dolly, had just given birth to a little girl. He'd telephoned just a few moments ago, so giddy he could barely form complete sentences, and she'd congratulated him on his wonderful news.

New life always brought with it hope and a chance for change. Maybe it was the weather, or Fred's new granddaughter or the fact that Chummy was due to give birth any day now, but she couldn't help feeling there were many changes coming to their little world very soon.

She heard a soft knock on her open office door.

"Yes?" She looked up and saw the petite shadow of a young woman, dressed in an outdated gray suit, blond hair pulled back from her face in a severe bun. It took her a minute to recognize her, and when she did, she gasped, suddenly transported back to a clear morning in 1948.

"Sister Julienne? May I speak with you?' the woman said in a soft Scottish lilt.

"Yes – yes, of course," she said, standing and ushering her to a chair. "But you –"

"—were supposed to go to the Mother House, yes." The woman blushed slightly as she sat down. "I'm sorry for putting you through all trouble of arranging it."

"But my dear, how did you get here? You didn't take the bus all the way from Woodford Green?"

Her blush deepened. "No. Dr. Turner was kind enough to offer me a lift. I - I telephoned him before I left." She took a deep breath and finally looked up from her hands. "I fear I owe you an explanation."

She shook her head. "Explanations are not needed. I offered to arrange for you to stay at the Mother House because I thought you might need the time to reflect and to plan. But if you do not need that time, if you are certain this is the path you wish to take -"

"It is. I am."

She smiled gently. She'd never seen the young woman look braver, or more terrified. "And no one expects you - or Dr. Turner - to walk that path alone."

The young woman frowned. "You - you knew?"

"I suspected." She rose from her desk and went to her filing cabinet, searching for a particular folder. "Do you have a place to stay?"

"Yes, a boarding house, not far from here."

She turned and set the correct papers and a fountain pen on the desk. "Well, then, my dear, there are some procedures to be gone through."

Later, after the young woman had left, Sister Julienne retreated to the quiet of the chapel. The meeting and their discussion had been brief, no more than 15 minutes, most of it spent in hellos and goodbyes. But it had been harder than she'd imagined; even now she worried about the former sister. How would she manage over the next weeks? How would she adjust to her new life? Was she really ready for it? And how would she and Dr. Turner cope with shocked and possibly disapproving reactions of the community? For the gossip would come, no matter what she did to try and stem it.

And how would Nonnatus cope? How would she cope?

She slipped the folded piece of paper out of her habit, reading over the quick typed lines to the neat signature at the bottom. Perhaps, she reflected - she hoped, and in hope was faith - she still had her friend, only by a new name.

Shelagh Mannion.


	5. Cynthia

"The very idea of it. It's disgraceful! And who knows how long it's been going on?"

"Mum, the nurse will be here any minute!"

"So?"

"So she'll hear you."

Cynthia sighed as she climbed the narrow steps to the second floor. She'd already heard Mrs. Williams screeching – and her daughter Beryl's muffled replies – as soon as she'd entered the building. She'd been treating the elderly woman for diabetes and a weak heart for a few weeks now, and every appointment began and ended the same – with her listening to the mother berate her daughter and only caretaker.

"I don't care who hears me!"

"Mum, please! Calm down, it's not good for your heart."

"You don't care anything about my heart. If you did you'd have worn that blue dress like I told ya and smiled at the doctor, instead of always running to your corner when he calls. But it's too late for that now. Oh, when I think –"

Reaching the landing, Cynthia took a deep breath and knocked on the door. The arguing stopped – well, paused, as Cynthia knew it would probably start up again the moment she left – she heard shuffled steps and Beryl's wan face appeared through a crack in the door.

"Hello, nurse," she said with a ghost of a smile. "Come in. Mum's just waiting for you."

Cynthia stepped inside the flat. It was small, only two rooms, but impeccably neat, thanks to Beryl's diligent cleaning. She smiled at her now. "How are you today, Beryl?"

"Fine, nurse," she said, tucking a strand of limp brown hair behind her ear. "And yourself?"

"Busy, but well. How's your mother?"

"Beryl!" a voice screeched from the bedroom. "Beryl, bring the nurse in already."

The woman flinched slightly. "Coming, Mum." Cynthia followed her into the dim bedroom.

"Good morning, Mrs. Williams," she said, ever cheerful. She'd found a little kindness went a long way even with the most trying patients. "How are you feeling today?"

Mrs. Williams leaned up slightly in bed and groaned. "Oh, much the same. Is it just you today? No doctor?"

"No, you'll be seeing me or one of the other nurses from now on. Just to monitor your condition."

She slouched against the pillows. "That bad, is it? He thinks I don't have much time left, does he?"

"Don't say that, Mum."

"Why not? Everyone knows I'm dying."

"Mrs. Williams, that's not it at all," Cynthia said. "You're doing very well. And Beryl is taking excellent care of you."

She hoped the comment would prompt a compliment or a smile from the woman, but Mrs. Williams merely scoffed. "All right. Let's get this done."

She was silent as Cynthia took her blood pressure. Beryl remained in the room as always, standing in her corner, eyes to the floor. When Cynthia had taken over Mrs. Williams' care, Sister Julienne had told her the mother and daughter had lived in the small flat since Beryl was a teenager. Her father was absent and her mother had worked in a cafe down the street until her health began to fail. Now Beryl took in washing and mending to put food on the table. She must be in her mid-thirties, but she still seemed a timid teenager in front of her mother, and Cynthia doubted she often left the flat, except to do the shopping.

She focused her attention back on her patient. "Any pain or dizziness lately?"

"No," Mrs. Williams said, her eyes narrow and sharp. "You said it would be you or one of the nuns coming from now on? Didn't one of them – wasn't she sent away because she was ill or something?"

Cynthia frowned. Mrs. Williams had never been this inquisitive before. She answered carefully. "Sister Bernadette? Yes, but she's much better now."

"Oh, do you hear that Beryl? Isn't that wonderful news?" she said, her voice taking on a sudden sweetness Cynthia didn't quite trust. "So she'll be back among us then?"

Back among them? She had little idea of what to say now; Sister Bernadette wasn't back among them and might never be. Sister Julienne had broken the news at dinner the other day. The young midwife had returned to Poplar, but she had also left the order and was no longer Sister Bernadette, but Shelagh Mannion now.

"Will she still be nursing?" Jenny had asked.

"Right now she is convalescing," Sister Julienne had said. "Whether or not she will return as a nurse after that time is –" she paused. "— not something we discussed. She is, of course, always welcome here," she added warmly. "As any of you would be. I hope we shall see her soon."

But Cynthia hadn't seen the former Sister yet and had no idea what she was doing with her time or planning to do. But she knew Sis—Shelagh wouldn't like any gossip or lies spread about her.

She met Mrs. Williams' shrewd gaze. "I'm not sure when she'll return to nursing," she said, firmly ending the discussion. "She's convalescing. Now, I'll need a urine sample –"

"Beryl can help me. Beryl!" she barked. Her daughter rushed from her corner and with a careful, practiced hands, helped her mother from the bed to the bathroom and shut the door. Cynthia began to search her bag for a test tube but stopped when she heard Mrs. Williams' loud whisper on the other side of the door.

"I told you, Beryl. I told you Violet wasn't lying when she said she saw her walking around in normal clothes with the doctor's boy."

"So?"

"So? Didn't you see the nurse's face when I asked about the Sisters? I'll bet she had to leave. They probably caught her with him and kicked her out."

"Mum!"

"She lured him in somehow. That poor doctor and his son. I never did trust those nuns. Vows of chastity my –"

"Mum, stop it – now." A pause. "Are you finished?"

"Yes." Another pause. "Beryl, love, I just want you taken care of –"

"I know, Mum. I know. But I never even fancied him all that much."

"What are you going to do when I'm gone?"

Beryl mumbled something Cynthia couldn't hear. But she caught Mrs. Williams' grumbled sigh in reply.

"All right, help me back to bed."

Cynthia smiled politely and tended to Mrs. Williams with care for the rest of the visit. But her mind remained full of that whispered conversation.

Why would anyone say such things about Sis – Shelagh and Dr. Turner? They'd served the community together for years. Certainly, the Sister had always been attentive to his son, Timothy, but they were good friends – and professionals. The idea that anything untoward had happened – that anything at all had happened between them was preposterous.

Wasn't it?

Why had the sister left what had been her life for ten years unless –

Cynthia quickly shook off the questions and doubts clouding her mind. It wasn't any of her business _why_. But these awful rumors Mrs. Williams and her friends were spreading about Shelagh – should she say something? Defend her friend and colleague?

No, she couldn't. That would be admitting she had eavesdropped on a patient. Besides, denying it might only add credence to false and malicious gossip.

But she should bring it up with someone. Sister Julienne, perhaps, or Shelagh, if she ever saw her.

"Are you all right, nurse?" Beryl asked as she walked with her to the door. Mrs. Williams had decided to take a nap, so they spoke in whispers.

"Perfectly fine," she said. In the brighter light of the sitting room, the dark circles under Beryl's eyes and the paleness of her skin became even more apparent. "Are you all right, though? You look rather worn out." Cynthia grasped her hand. "When's the last time you've gone out and done something for yourself?"

She shrugged. "I don't like to leave Mum."

"I'm not talking about leaving permanently. Just for an evening or so. The Harvest Festival's coming up on Saturday. There will be games, music, dancing –"

Beryl shook her head and pulled away. "I don't know how to dance."

"Neither do I," she said, laughing slightly. "But sometimes it's fun to watch. You might even make a friend or two. Say you'll think about it?"

Beryl hesitated, then gave a small nod. "All right." She worried her lower lip between her teeth. "Nurse – the things Mum says – she don't mean half of 'em. She just feels so bad all the time. It's hard for her. Talk's all she's got now."

One could only pray such "talk" hadn't reached Shelagh or Dr. Turner yet. But perhaps it wouldn't; perhaps it would die away without ever hurting anyone.

Cynthia gave Beryl what she hoped was a reassuring smile. "It's all right. I've got a thick skin. And it's only talk."


	6. Fred

Fred knew something fundamental had changed when the first boy to arrive at Cubs that week was Timothy Turner.

"Hello, young Tim." He checked his watch again and his eyebrows rose. "You're early."

The boy frowned. "Is that okay?"

" 'Course, by all means. Glad to have you," Fred said, smiling at him. "You can help set up the crafts table." Arts and crafts were usually Chummy's forte, and he was feeling a little bit lost among all the paper, paste and pencils he'd found in the cupboard.

Tim jumped right in though and began setting out the crayons and pencils by color in the center of the table. "Is Akela coming back today?"

Fred grimaced. "Nah. She's still feeling poorly after little Fred's birth. But she is on the mend. And we are gonna bring even more cheer to her, by making her cards."

"Cards?"

"Yeah, saying things like 'Congrats' or 'Get well,' or 'You'll be a great mum,'" He let the last one slip without thinking. He'd always tried to be sensitive to the Turners' loss. He'd had to be both mum and dad to his girls after the war, and it had never been easy.

"How's your dad?" he asked as he began unstacking chairs. "He doing all right?"

Tim shrugged. " 'Suppose. He was sad, I think, for a while but now he's a lot better. Everything's a lot better since Sister - I mean, Miss Mannion is out of the sanatorium," he said, pronouncing the words "Miss Mannion" and "sanatorium" carefully, as if they didn't sit quite right on his tongue.

"Yeah," Fred agreed. "That's a blessing, that is." He'd developed a soft spot for the kind and intelligent young nun ever since she'd taken care of his pig, Evie when she'd had her piglets, and he'd been glad to find out Sister Bernadette was finally well and coming back to Poplar. But her decision to leave the order mystified him. Where would she go now?

"Yeah," Tim said quietly. "I missed her. Do you think I could draw her a picture, too, to put up in her room at the boarding house?"

Fred set down a chair and frowned, suddenly even more confused. "Absolutely. But you've seen her, then, since she came back?"

"Yeah, loads of times," Tim said breezily. "She walked with me here today and before that, we went to the science museum and yesterday she had dinner with Dad and me. And the day before that, after we found her."

"Found her?" Tim's story only half made sense to Fred, but a picture was beginning to form in his mind. A strange, but a plausible picture.

Tim began pushing the chairs in around the table. "Yeah. She called Dad tell him she was coming back and she wasn't going to be a nun anymore, but then she took the wrong bus and got lost so we had to find her." He stopped suddenly, his fingers clutching the back of the chair, and looked down. "I shouldn't have told you," he mumbled. "I'm really not supposed to talk about it. Dad says it might make She – Miss Mannion uncomfortable if people started talking about her."

Good luck with that, young Tim, Fred thought sadly. The doctor and Sister Bernadette? Well, former Sister Bernadette. Once the Poplar gossips got a hold of that, there'd be no stopping the rumors.

But he wouldn't be spreading them. Let them have a little romance, he thought, remembering how nervous and alive he'd felt with his Marjorie when they first fell in love. Everyone deserved that at least once.

"I won't tell no one," he said, laying a hand on the boy's shoulder. "But, uh, Tim? How is she? Sister – Miss Mannion? I only ask because the Sisters – well, they're a bit worried about her and I want to make sure she's getting on okay."

"She seems okay. Different than when she was Sister Bernadette, but the same too?" Tim scrunched up his face in thought. "Since she's not a nun anymore, does that mean she can't ever talk to the other sisters and nurses again?"

Fred frowned. "Nah, 'course not. They're friends – that does not change." He bent down and looked Tim square in the eye. "You tell her she can come round for tea and a slice of Mrs. B's cake any time she wants. You and your Dad can come too. We all want to see her now that she's well again."

Tim's face brightened. "All right."

"And uh, Tim? It's good that she has you and your dad as friends, too. You tell her that for me," Fred said, with a wink.

Tim sighed. "Yeah. Dad needs friends." His smile turned sly, like he had a secret. "I think he really likes her."


	7. Jenny and Alec

Jenny was cycling down Clarke Street when a flash of blue in a shop window caught her eye. She stopped. The dress was just the thing she'd been looking for to wear for a night out with Alec. She hopped off her bike and wheeled it closer to the window. She didn't normally buy secondhand, but the price was perfect. She'd just finished her rounds and she had a few minutes before clinic. Perhaps the shopkeeper would put it aside for her if she asked; she could pick it up later. She leaned her bike against the side of the building and headed for the door, her eyes focused on the dress in the window, so she didn't see the young woman until she ran into her.

"Oh, excuse me –"

"No, it's my fault – oh." She hadn't recognized the blond hair and the slightly outdated dress, but she knew that soft Scottish lilt and the kind blue eyes behind those glasses. "Hello, Sist – Shelagh."

"Hello, Nurse Lee – Jenny," she said with a nervous smile.

Don't stare, Jenny scolded herself. She had a terrible habit of staring when surprised, which seemed to happen a lot since she'd come to the East End. Seeing a nun – well, former nun – out of habit wasn't the oddest thing, really. Shelagh was rather pretty, though that sack-like pinkish tweed wasn't doing her figure any favors. "How are you?" she asked.

"I'm well, thank you. I was just – I was shopping." She shifted her small handbag from one wrist to the other. Jenny supposed she wasn't quite used to carrying one regularly; nuns didn't. She wasn't even sure if the other Sisters ever carried money. They gave up most of their material goods. "How are you?"

"Good. Busy, but we're all run off our feet just now," she said, before realizing that Shelagh might think they were all overworked because of her departure. "I mean, only because Jane's leaving and Chummy's still recovering –"

"Yes, I heard," Shelagh said, a small crease of concern appearing between her eyebrows. "How is she? And the baby?"

"Freddie's healthy and she's much better now," Jenny said. "Out of hospital, but under strict orders to rest at home."

"Not easy with a newborn." Shelagh raised an eyebrow. "And rather a steep learning curve for Constable Noakes, I would imagine."

"Well, we've all pitched in a bit, changed our share of nappies," Jenny said, laughing. "Even Sister Evangelina."

Shelagh's smile faltered. "Well, give Chummy my best." She fiddled with her bag again.

 _Why did you leave?_ Jenny wanted to ask. But that might be too personal; she and Sister Bernadette, while colleagues, had never been close. But she'd been such a dedicated nurse. What would make her leave the only life she'd known for years?

 _You did once_ , said a voice in her head that sound remarkably like Sister Julienne. _You left to escape and found your calling._

Was Shelagh escaping from something? She didn't look troubled, but she kept glancing toward the street, as though she were watching out for someone. Was she worried one of the nuns might see her shopping and disapprove?

"You should come by and visit. I'm sure Chummy would love to see you. We all would, now that you're well," she added, hoping it would reassure her.

"Perhaps," Shelagh said, her smile still pained. "Well, I don't want to keep you. It was lovely to see you Nur – Jenny." She brushed past her and walked down the street, heels clicking neat and quick on the pavement.

Jenny frowned as she watched her disappear into the crowd. She couldn't help but feel like she was missing something.

Back at Nonnatus a few hours later, during a rare moment of peace between the end of clinic and dinner, the doorbell rang.

Please don't be a patient, Jenny thought as she headed for the door. She'd just been about to head upstairs for a quick nap, as she was on call that evening.

It wasn't. Instead, Alec Jesmond stood on the step, his hands in his pockets and a sheepish grin on his face.

"Hello Jenny Lee," he said, rocking back on his heels. "I came by wondering if you'd like to take another spin on that motorbike."

She smiled in spite of herself. An old mutual friend had introduced her to Alec weeks ago, and though she'd been determined not to be set up, she found, after a few outings together, that she rather liked him. Oh, it wasn't the sudden, all-consuming passion she'd once felt for Gerald, but that had been dangerous. This was a comfortable giddiness, only slightly heady, not unlike the feeling of drinking Babycham on an empty stomach. She hated to disappoint him now, and end that feeling.

"I'm sorry. Sister Evangelina has it this evening, and I'm on call later, unfortunately. But you're welcome to come in for a while for tea. I might even be able to scrounge up some cake."

"Cake and your company?" His grin widened. "How could I refuse?"

She stepped aside, hoping the dark of the convent would hide her blush, and let him in. His footsteps echoed in the hall as he looked at the rafters, the brick walls and the desk with its telephone and chalkboard rota.

"It's so quiet," he said, his voice hushed. "Is it time for the silence? For the nuns?"

"Oh no, that's not 'til later. Everyone else is still out at the moment." But Alec was right; it did seem quieter and darker than usual, in a way that made her want to whisper and giggle secretly. Perhaps it was just because she was standing here alone with him. She cleared her throat. "The kitchen's just this way."

Once in the bright light of the kitchen, she relaxed; it was only tea and cake, and he was only a man. She put the kettle on to boil and pointed to the top shelf of the cupboard.

"Can you reach that blue tin up there? I think I saw Mrs. B put a Victoria sponge in there earlier."

Alec stretched, his long arm reaching past her head to grab the tin. He pried it open. "Success!" he said, tipping it toward her to reveal a cake with one thin wedge missing. "Looks like someone's already gotten to it."

Jenny laughed. "Sister Monica Joan most likely. She tries to be secretive, but never quite manages it."

"I would imagine it's hard to keep secrets in a convent."

She handed him a knife to slice the cake. "You've no idea. The nuns are the biggest gossips of all. You should have heard them when Chummy and Peter started courting."

"Should I be worried?" Alec said with a teasing smile.

The whistling kettle saved her from answering. And as for her blush, well, that was just the steam rising from the teacups.

"I've got some gossip for you that I'll bet the nuns don't even know about," Alec said as they moved to the table.

"Really?" She raised her eyebrows. "Does Trixie know?"

He chuckled. "No, not even Trixie – I think." He paused to take a forkful of cake. "I was out west this afternoon dropping off some plans and you'll never guess who I saw going into a rather posh-looking jewelers."

"Please don't say Sister Monica Joan. We've had a bit of trouble with her wandering and sticky fingers in the past."

"No," Alec said, taking a sip of his tea. "Dr. Turner."

Jenny frowned, unimpressed. "Is that all? He was probably just getting a watch repaired or something."

"I don't think so. He had the look of a man harried by nerves."

Jenny snorted. "He nearly always looks like that – outside of the delivery room, anyway." Dr. Turner was an exceptional physician, but the demands of his job and caring for his son on his own stretched him rather thin. It was little wonder he looked exhausted all the time and smoked like a chimney.

Alec's grin widened. "Well, this was a very posh jewelers."

She set down her teacup. "What are you saying, Alec?"

He leaned forward, waggling his eyebrows. "I'm saying, I think the good doctor has a sweetheart."

Jenny threw her head back and laughed. She couldn't help it – it was too ridiculous. "A sweetheart? Dr. Turner?"

Alec shrugged. "Why not? You said he was a widower –"

"Yes, but – it's just –" How could she say this without sounding rude? She respected Dr. Turner, and he may have been considered "quite a catch" at some point in his life, but now he was just – _old_. "He's middle-aged, and he always wears these worn out jumpers that are just –" she made a face "— anyway, we're all so busy at the moment, when would he find the time to court anyone?"

"You do." He reached across the table for her hand. She let him take it for a moment and smiled.

"Just barely." She slipped her fingers from his. "The fact is, we need at least two new midwives now. Jane's left, Chummy will most likely leave after she's recuperated, and then there's Sister Bernadette – well, Shelagh, now that she's left too." She tapped her fingers on her teacup, thinking. "You know I ran into her on the street today. She seemed well enough, but she never said why she left the Order."

"Did you ask her?"

She shook her head. "I didn't want to seem like I was prying too much." She sighed. "Sister Julienne told us she hadn't lost her faith, but that she just wanted a life outside the Order, whatever that means."

Alec grinned slyly over his teacup. "Maybe she's the doctor's sweetheart."

"What?" Jenny said, giggling.

He leaned forward again and lowered his voice to a whisper. "Maybe she left the Order because she and Dr. Turner are passionately in love, and they're planning to run away together."

Jenny laughed again, louder this time. _Passion? From Dr. Turner and Sister Bernadette?_ "Alec, stop – that's ridiculous. Shelagh didn't leave the order because of Dr. Turner. Honestly, you're worse than Trixie."

"I don't know," he said, stealing a bite of her cake. "Anything's possible."


	8. Trixie

Trixie took one last glance in her compact mirror and frowned. "I know Jane, Chummy and Sister Bernadette all had good reasons for leaving, but after that clinic I feel like escaping myself. There's not enough powder in the world to cover these dark circles." She shut the compact with an irritated snap but, from long practice, mustered up a smile. "I'm just glad I didn't frighten off the patients."

"Three nurses leaving at once is a lot," Cynthia acknowledged as she repacked the cleaned test tubes and spirit lamps. "I don't think we've been this busy since before you came, Jenny – remember Trixie? When all of the nuns caught the flu, one after the other?"

Trixie groaned, partly from the memory and partly from her aching feet. "Do I? I was the one who had to play headmistress and make sure they didn't disobey doctor's orders and sneak out of their beds." Her grin turned mischievous. "It was rather fun ordering Sister Evangelina about."

They all laughed quietly, peeking discretely through the kitchen hatch to make sure the bossy elder nun wasn't around to hear them.

"Oh," Trixie sighed and lit up a cigarette. "But that was barely two weeks, and it was only temporary. Now Jane's in nursing school, Chummy's still recovering –"

"And she has Freddie and Peter to think of," Cynthia pointed out.

"Yes. And Sister Bernadette…" Trixie trailed off. Cynthia and Jenny became quiet too.

Sister Bernadette had been greatly missed during her months recuperating from TB at St. Anne's sanatorium. She was one of their most qualified midwives and an excellent and kind teacher.

But more than that, Trixie had realized during the first week of the nun's absence, she was a friend. She missed her quiet sense of humor and her patience. The young sister had always served as a sort of interpreter and a peacemaker between the nurses and the older nuns. Without her, they still rubbed along, but there was grit in the works, and misunderstandings became more frequent.

Trixie, remembering the obvious delight the sister took in hearing about the nurses' dates and nights out, had made a point to write her and visit regularly, even when she had hardly any news or gossip to pass on. And if Sister Bernadette seemed tired or withdrawn during her visits, well, that was probably down to the illness.

Thankfully, after a few short months, Sister Bernadette recovered, but the news of her good health was immediately followed by the announcement that she would not be returning to Nonnatus. She had chosen to leave the religious life – and her home – to return to being someone called, "Shelagh Mannion," again.

Trixie was flummoxed by the news. She'd never quite understood the sister's devout nature and call to a religious life, but she respected it. After dinner that evening, she'd gone to her room to try and write another letter to her – but what did one say to a nun who had decided to leave the convent? Congratulations? She wasn't even sure how to address it; just "Shelagh" seemed too informal, and right now she felt as though she barely knew her. Why would she leave? Was Trixie even allowed to ask?

In the end, she gave up on the letter and decided to wait until she saw the former sister in person again. Trixie was still waiting for that meeting, and she still didn't know what she'd say.

"Why do you think she left?" Jenny said, asking the question they all wanted an answer to

"Well, I know why I would leave," Trixie said with a teasing smirk. "Those habits do absolutely nothing for the figure."

"Yes, but that's not Sister Bernadette, is it?" Jenny said. She leaned across the table so she could whisper. "Alec has a theory."

"Please tell me you did not spend your entire afternoon off with him discussing the nuns, Jenny," Trixie said, puffing briefly on her Sobranie. It had taken Jenny long enough to come around to the idea of dating Alec – he seemed ideal to everyone but her – and Trixie hoped she wouldn't screw up a good thing now.

"No," Jenny said, looking down at her hands to hide a rising blush. "He came by Nonnatus the other day. You weren't here."

Trixie giggled. "Alone with a man in a convent – how scandalous!" She lowered her voice to a whisper again, her eyes sparkling. "So, what is Mr. Jesmond's theory?"

Jenny folded her hands. "Well, he said he saw Dr. Turner shopping for an engagement ring."

"But what does that have to do with –" Trixie gasped and her blue eyes widened. "You don't mean –"

Jenny nodded. "I know. It's absolutely ridiculous. Sister Bernadette and Dr. Turner?"

Ridiculous wasn't the word Trixie would have chosen, but it was rather hard to imagine them as a couple. When she tried, her mind kept circling back to the last birth she'd attended with the two of them – Meg Carter's miraculous twins. It had been a hard, long birth, filled with complications and interruptions from Meg's fractious sister, Mave. But the doctor and the nun worked almost completely in sync with one another and remained consummate professionals, even after Mave attacked them, pushed Dr. Turner to the ground and slapped Sister Bernadette across the face.

"Are you all right?" she'd heard the doctor ask the sister in a low voice after it was all over and they were preparing to leave. As Trixie cinched her bag to the back of her bike, she saw him raise his hand toward the nun's cheek, then clench his fist and drop it back to his side.

"Perfectly fine, doctor," the nun murmured and took a tiny step back, her face pink in the chilly morning air. "It looked worse than it really was."

Trixie remembered now. She had left, eager for her bed, but Sister Bernadette hadn't immediately followed. She'd lingered. So had the doctor.

She began to smile, slowly. It could mean anything, but…

"Actually –" Cynthia broke in, having been quiet and withdrawn for most of the conversation. "I heard something, too." She frowned and twisted her hands in front of her. "I wasn't sure whether to say anything, but I was visiting a patient – Mrs. Williams, you know how she likes to gossip – and I overheard her talking."

"What did she say?" Jenny asked.

"Knowing Mrs. Williams I doubt it was anything kind," Trixie snapped.

Cynthia hesitated before continuing. "Just that she'd seen Sister Bernadette out with Timothy recently, and that others had seen her and Dr. Turner – well – courting, I suppose." Her frown deepened. "She said Sister Bernadette must have been kicked out of the convent for breaking her vows with him."

Trixie sucked in a sharp breath. "But that's not true at all! How could people say such things?"

"We don't know what's true and what's not, Trixie," Jenny said.

Trixie drew herself up to her full height, her eyes flashing. "Jenny Lee. Sister Bernadette is one of the kindest, most honest and devout people we know. Whatever has happened, she is our friend, and she's done nothing to warrant such hateful gossip."

They were silent again, each trying to absorb the troubling and confusing rumors swirling about their old friend. What had happened? And more importantly, what did it all mean now?

"She was always fond of Timothy," Cynthia said softly.

Trixie chuckled briefly. "Yes. When I visited her once in the sanatorium, he made me bring her a dead butterfly to diagnose. I think she was proud of him, said he had an inquiring mind, " she said, remembering the nun's wide smile.

"And poor Dr. Turner. He was probably so worried about her," Cynthia said.

Trixie sighed and stubbed out the rest of her cigarette. "They couldn't truly be together. And then all those months apart, never knowing if she would – " her throat tightened and she looked down at her ashtray to hide her sudden tears. How terrible, what could have happened.

But how beautiful, what _had_ happened between them. It had to be true; Trixie needed it to be true. For Sis – _Shelagh –_ and Dr. Turner. For Timothy. And even for herself. If such love could exist outside of the films, then there was still hope.

"If she did leave to be with him, I think it's romantic," she said, a slight dreamy smile on her face.

Cynthia returned her grin. "Dr. Turner wasn't wearing his wedding ring today. I noticed when he went to wash his hands."

"And he was whistling when he came in," Jenny said. "It was rather odd."

Trixie laughed. "Well, that settles it. Looks like we've got quite the May-December romance on our hands."

"Do you think the nuns know?" Cynthia asked, giggling.

Trixie gasped and laughed again. "If they don't, I don't fancy being the one to tell Sister Evangelina."


End file.
